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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617681">Hell is Other People</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/roman117/pseuds/roman117'>roman117</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Helltaker (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Drugs/Smoking, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Lesbian Azazel (Helltaker), Multi, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, The Helltaker (Helltaker) is Trying His Best™, a collection of Daily Misadventures at the Helltaker House, he just wants his girls to be happy, honestly its less a harem and more like a polycule, there might also be angst but it’ll be quickly followed by even more fluff, this is just completely self-indulgent fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:47:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617681</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/roman117/pseuds/roman117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Living under the same roof as your harem of 10 demons (and also one curious angel) is by no means as easy as you once thought it would be, but there's certainly no lack of entertainment. For better or worse, your life is almost never boring anymore, and living with a group of people who you love and who love you, for the most part, even though they can kill you easily, and sometimes still try, has its perks. </p><p>Maybe. </p><p>You hope.</p><p>Let's face it, your life is most likely gonna be a short one. </p><p>But at least it'll be interesting.</p><h6></h6><p>A disorganized collection of fluff-filled, entirely self-indulgent Helltaker drabbles. You may even like them! That'd be cool! If you have any ideas for future chapters, leave them in the comments and I'll see what catches my eye!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azazel &amp; The Helltaker (Helltaker), Azazel/Judgement (Helltaker), Malina &amp; Zdrada (Helltaker), The Helltaker/Harem (Helltaker)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sour Grapes (or Raspberries)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Malina gets tilted playing video games, and decides to let the rest of the house know.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes, things around the house are quiet.</p><p>“FUCKING 95%?! ARE YOU SHITTING ME?! FUCK THIS GAME!”</p><p>Today is not one of those days.</p><p>You already knew today would be an eventful one when Malina woke up already cursing through her teeth, mumbling expletives of all sorts as she swiped the mug of coffee you had brewed for her in advance, cutting ahead of Pandemonica, who even in her tired state gave the sour devil an utterly <em>murderous</em> look in response -- one that you very much hope will not be followed up on.</p><p>Judging from the bags under Malina’s eyes, you probably already knew why she was pissed.</p><p>Sometimes, Malina gets so engrossed in a game she forgets to sleep. Occasionally she even forgets to eat or drink something that isn’t the seemingly-endless supply of alcohol she keeps in her room. </p><p>Rarely it’s because she’s having fun, though. More often, it’s because the game is kicking her ass and she’s got something to prove. She refuses to have her ass kicked by “cheating fucking AI bullshit”, and to her, closing down when she’s in the middle of a downward spiral is the same thing as admitting defeat.</p><p>You can’t exactly say you haven’t been there before yourself; but definitely not at the frequency Malina manages.</p><p>Normally, she burns herself out. You’ll frequently find her in her room around noon, passed out drooling on her keyboard, headset still on, desktop long since entered rest mode. When that happens, you carefully remove her limp body from the ergonomic chair and tuck her into bed. You always leave her a plate of breakfast and (several) bottles of water on her end table for when she eventually wakes up.</p><p>That’s what <em>normally</em> happens. Other times, you end up being awakened by the sound of a headset or controller cracking against the wall, usually followed by a colorful variety of polish expletives.</p><p>Zdrada finds it hilarious, the others not so much. More than once you’ve had to carefully explain to the others that they don’t need to worry, you’ll handle this, and no, they can’t murder her. </p><p>Thankfully, such events are rare. But when they do happen, they’re never pretty. Just like right now.</p><p>You’re started from your stupor by a heavy banging from the upstairs, that of a fist on a door.</p><p>“MALINA! OPEN THIS DOOR IMMEDIATELY!” screams a voice you recognize as belonging to Lucifer, “I WILL TURN YOUR ENTIRE ROOM TO <em>SLAG</em> IF YOU DON’T LET ME IN THIS INSTANT!”</p><p>“EAT MY ASS!” is the reply that gets shouted back.</p><p>Right on cue, then.</p><p>With a sigh, you push yourself off the couch and make your way to the second floor. A small crowd stands gathered in the hall, as usual on days like this. As expected, Zdrada is present, right behind Lucifer, a fist on her mouth to stifle her cackling.</p><p>Upon seeing you, Azazel, who is sticking her head out from her own room to observe the kerfuffle, visibly relaxes, muttering an <em>“oh, thank god”</em> through her sigh of relief.</p><p>You carefully push your way to the end of the hall, until you’re standing behind Lucifer at Malina’s door, as she continues to pound away at the already-dented wood.</p><p>With a gentle hand on her shoulder, you meet Lucifer’s gaze with an unspoken <em>“Don’t worry, I got this”</em>, and she crosses her arms with a huff.</p><p>“I don’t know how you expect to get through to her, but it’s your funeral.” With that, she turns and heads down the hall, back down the stairs. In response, the small gathering thins until the hallway is empty save for you. You can still hear Malina swearing through the door.</p><p>With a gentle rap against the white wood, you call out her name, hearing a muttered curse in response, and politely ask if you can come in.</p><p>“Fuck off,” is the only response.</p><p>You raise your knuckles to knock again, but an idea pops into your head. You turn around and briskly make your way to your room, and immediately drop to the floor to search under your bed for something particular.</p><p>When you return, hardware and cables in one arm, and a jewel case in the other, you give another gentle knock.</p><p>“What part of ‘fuck off’ eludes you?” comes the muffled growl from the other side.</p><p>You don’t hesitate with your reply. “Listen. I just wanna talk.”</p><p>“You gonna yell at me too? Save it.”</p><p>With genuine confusion, you pause a moment before you ask just when have you ever yelled at her.</p><p>“First time for everything.”</p><p>You sigh. “Look. I have something for you.”</p><p>That gets a laugh from the other side, “Yeah? It better be tequila or a hitachi, otherwise, and I say again, FUCK OFF.”</p><p>You exhale from your nostrils in a half-chuckle; clearly she wants to make this as difficult as possible. Two can play at that game. “You know, I can wait here as long as it takes. You’ll have to come out eventually to use the bathroom.”</p><p>“I got a lotta bottles here.”</p><p>Okay, <em>ew</em>. Back to your original plan, then.</p><p>“Listen, I really do have something. I think you’ll appreciate it. But you gotta come and get it yourself.”</p><p>Malina groans, “Just leave it at the door, I’ll get it later.”</p><p>“Nope. Face to face.”</p><p>An even longer groan this time, followed by silence. Then, the squeaking of a chair, and heavy footsteps that increase in volume until, finally, the door swings open to reveal Malina; her hair a frazzled mess, her eye bags having eye bags, wearing simple boxers and a very-oversized grey sweatshirt that... hey, wait a minute--</p><p>“I know you’re just trying to buy my silence, and lucky for you that’ll work.” She reaches out a hand. “Give it here, whatever it is.”</p><p>You remain steadfast. “Nope. Lemme in first.”</p><p>She opens her mouth to say something, then looks down at the package under your arm, and you can just barely notice the slight raise of her eyebrows. “...Is that a PSX?”</p><p>She’s got a good eye. You ask her once more to let you in.</p><p>Malina doesn’t say anything, merely eyeing you up and down, glancing between your bespectacled eyes and the console under your arm. Eventually, with a deep huff, she steps aside and allows you to enter.</p><p>Her room smells even more like booze than it usually does, which is never a good sign. Malina lurches over to her battlestation and plops down in her rolling chair, letting it spin her around as she rests an elbow on the arm and uses her fist to prop up her limp head.</p><p>You glance at the monitor behind her. Behind several empty bottles of Smirnoff, a red “MISSION FAILED” text box bathes Malina in its almost mocking hue. Next to it, a single, sorrowful soldier sits shaken in the seat of a dropship, the negative space around him making his loneliness all the more palpable.</p><p>XCOM 2. It’s a sight you’ve seen more than a few times. You tell her just as much.</p><p>“Game is fucking bullshit.” No hesitation. “Oh, yeah, it says ‘95% chance to hit’, but that shit misses a fuckton more than just 5% of the time. Fucking muton was one shot away from death, and my fucking colonel MISSES his flanking shot. Turn ends, he grenades the VIP and my ranger, mission fucking failed, and a fucking pod I didn’t even activate wanders in, two heavy lancers and a fucking spectre. By the time I reach EVAC my grenadier has one fucking health left and the rest of my A-team is dead, unconcious, or bleeding out. Now I have nothing but fucking squaddies, in the fucking MID-GAME.”</p><p>You listen intently to her ranting, you’ve definitely had sessions like that with that game. “Why don’t you just reload a save?”</p><p>She looks at you like you just spat in her drink, “I’m playing on Ironman. Who the fuck do you take me for?”</p><p>“Right.” Should’ve figured.</p><p>“So,” Malina says, already changing the subject, “show me what you got.” Her heel is propped up on the edge of the chair seat, as she sits in a manner that will do no favors for her posture.</p><p>You don’t answer right away. Instead, you gingerly step over to her bed, and take a seat. Without a word, you reach over and pat the empty spot beside you.</p><p>“Fuck you,” is the response.</p><p>Well, if that’s the way she wants to do it. “I could unplug that tower if you’d rather do this the hard way.”</p><p>That gets her attention. She instantly straightens, hands clenching the arms of her chair as she snaps her head to you. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.”</p><p>“You’re playing Ironman. It’s already saved your progress. And do you <em>really</em> want to continue playing that save?”</p><p>Malina practically falls over with how hard she groans, but after a few seconds of pouting, she drags herself out of the chair, walks over to her bed, and all but falls onto the comforter next to you, the mattress bouncing from the impact. She remains on her back, staring grumpily at the ceiling as she waits for you to say something.</p><p>After a small, somewhat awkward silence, you do.</p><p>“Listen…”</p><p>“Stop,” begs Malina, hands slapping over her face.</p><p>You don’t. “I’m worried about you. And, the others are, too… I think. They don’t really show it.” You aren’t even looking at her yet you can feel the sheer <em>pleasegodletmebeanywherebuthere</em> energy radiating off of Malina like a collapsing star. You won’t let it stop you. “It’s not normal to get this tilted about a game. Or to pull all-nighters playing them. I understand frustration, even occasional yelling, but there’s a point where--”</p><p>Malina cuts you off, “<em>God</em>, you sound like my fucking <em>dad</em> or something. You gonna give me a curfew or something? Cut off my wi-fi?” She sighs, “I know how fucking dumb it is, getting angry over video games. Believe me, I <em>know</em>. But you don’t know what it’s like, that fucking frustration when you’re getting your ass kicked and all you can do is sit there and take it.”</p><p>You crossed your arms. “Actually, I do know what it’s like.”</p><p>“Oh, is that so?”</p><p>Without missing a beat, you reply “I used to play competitive Counter-Strike.”</p><p>Her frown faltered somewhat at that, eyes widening, “...Oh. Oh, shit. For real? CSGO, CSS…?”</p><p>“CS1.6”</p><p>She stared at you with what seemed like genuine admiration. Or pity; you couldn’t tell. “Wow.”</p><p>“Yeah. I know a little bit about getting salty. And I know that it’s not healthy. Especially not the all-nighters.”</p><p>Her hands go back to covering her face, and she turns so that her back is facing you. “Ugh, I’ve heard this shit a thousand times from Lucifer.”</p><p>“I figured. So I’m not gonna give you some bullshit spiel… at least, not yet.”</p><p>Malina groaned again, but looked at you through her fingers as you stood up from the bed, PSX in hand. Heading over to the other side of the room where she had her consoles set up, you began the harrowing process of trying to find some way to plug it in.</p><p>Malina sits up on the bed and turns, simply watching you, though her scowl no less present than it was before. “What exactly are we playing?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m not playing,” you say, pulling your arm out from behind the TV and taking a few steps back. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a jewel case with a glimmering CD inside. “You are.”</p><p>You offer it to Malina and she swipes it out of your grip, giving it a once over. You cross your arms and wait.</p><p>Then she pauses. She turns it around, taking another look at the front of the disk.</p><p>“No… no fucking way. No. Fucking… holy <em>shit</em>.”</p><p>You smile at the complete 180 her personality has taken. “I figured it’d be something you’d like.”</p><p>Her scowl is entirely gone, replaced with a look of sheer awe. Her hands are practically shaking as she holds the jewel case in her hands like it’s a precious artifact and she might break it. “How… how did you get this?”</p><p>“Had it since I was little,” you say, raising a hand for emphasis. “It’s one of my favorites.” You smile, “I’m guessing you have a thing for mecha?”</p><p>“Are you kidding me? I play Battletech, of course I do, but… Jesus. <em>Fucking.</em> Christ.” She looks down at the case, and reads the title out loud. “<em>Front. Mission. Mother. Fucking. 3.</em>” She paraphrased a little there. “This… this is supposed to be one of the greatest games ever made. The campaign is at least 60 hours long…” </p><p>Her face is turning a shade of red you typically only see when she’s drunk. “You can change every part of every mech in the game, down to the color… every part has a different skill… the amount of loadout variety is insane… and this is all on a PS1 game...”</p><p>“Actually,” you chime in, “only the first campaign is 60 hours.”</p><p>Her head snaps to you. “<em>First campaign?</em>”, she asks incredulously, looking back at the case in her hands, which she’s clutching like it might jump out of her hands at any point.</p><p>You nod, and explain that there’s actually a second, <em>true</em> campaign that’s 80 hours long, and is significantly harder, and takes place on the opposite side of the story.</p><p>She actually shudders upon hearing your words, “You’re joking.”</p><p>You chuckle, “Pop it in and see for yourself.”</p><p>She doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes glued to the disc, her face so red she may as well be steaming. In fact, she actually might be.</p><p>“What do you want for this?” she asks, snapping her gaze back at you. Before you can respond, she continues. “You want money? A game?! Do you want me to suck your dick?! Because I’ll suck your dick <em>RIGHT NOW</em>.”</p><p>That has you stuttering, taken aback from just how brazen the offer is. “Uh… t-that won’t be necessary,” you answer, holding up your hands in a submissive gesture. Knowing Malina, she’s dead serious. “It’s a gift.”</p><p>She’s not taking it. “Bullshit. There’s gotta be <em>something</em> you want.”</p><p>You open your mouth to explain that no, it really <em>is</em> a gift, but you pause. This gives you an idea. You step around Malina toward the bed, taking a seat. “Alright, then. Let’s spoon.”</p><p>She lowers the case and scoffs, like she was expecting something more challenging. “Deal. But I’m little spoon; no way am I gonna play this game while trying to look over your broad-ass shoulders.”</p><p>You hold up your hands in surrender, and lift your legs onto the bed as you lay down on the side farthest from the TV.</p><p>Malina gives the case one last look, before scurrying over to the plugged-in console and inserting the disk. Grabbing a controller, she brings it over to the bed, but doesn’t stop to lay down just yet. “One sec. This calls for a cocktail.”</p><p>Really? Hasn’t she had enough? You ask her as much.</p><p>She scoffs again as she approaches the counter next to her desktop that has her bartending setup prepared, “I haven’t had a drink since last night, relax.” A beat. “Or at least, I think it was last night… the sun wasn’t up.” She continues as she reaches into the icebox under the table for ingredients, getting right away to mixing up something; “I’ve had this bottle of crème de menthe I’ve been dying to crack open. You ever had a Grasshopper?”</p><p>You can’t say that you have. You shake your head and grunt out a negative.</p><p>“Well, I hope you like mint chocolate.” And with that, she gets to work.</p><p>You watch her as she does, pouring the mixture, cracking the ice, and shaking it up all with the deft hands of an expert in their craft going to work. She places two sour glasses on the counter, pouring an equal amount of the cocktail into each, and after cleaning her work station to satisfaction, picks them up and saunters over to the bed, handing you your glass as she plops down -- careful not to spill anything -- and snuggles back against you.</p><p>By now, the game has already booted to the main menu, and she takes the dual shock in her free hand. Before starting, however, Malina looks back at you and lifts up her drink in a toast. “To giant robots!”</p><p>You meet the toast with a clink, and you both take a sip. It tastes like melted mint chocolate ice cream, with a silky smooth texture, and the garnish of shaved chocolate on top doesn’t hurt either. Damn, she’s good.</p><p>Malina’s sip was comparatively bigger than yours, but with a satisfied exhale, she starts the game up properly. “Let’s blow some shit up.”</p><p>“Actually,” you chime, leaning in a bit closer, “you can beat this game without destroying any mechs.”</p><p>She pauses. Then freezes. As the intro FMV plays, she looks back at you with an incredulous look on her face; “Wait, <em>WHAT?</em>”</p><p>You nod confidently. “I will show you.” You feel her entire body quake.</p><p>And with that, the game begins proper.</p>
<h6></h6><p>By the time the afternoon sun starts peeking through the blinds of her room, Malina’s already started yawning again. You’ve long since finished your drinks, and she’s made it a good way through the game already with your tutelage, the two of you watching as three pixelated, low-poly mechs investigate a hollowed-out cavern deep in a Japanese research base.</p><p>Malina is laying on top of you now, using you as a human lounge-chair as you rest your back against the headboard, chin atop her head, your hand lazily playing with a strand of her hair as she stays glued to the TV screen ahead. As the screen shifts to a turn-based battle-grid, another yawn forces its way out of her. </p><p>“Think the, uh… think the coffee might be…” another yawn, with a hand over her mouth to stifle it, “wearing off.” You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed. Those bags under her eyes haven’t gone anywhere, and her eyelids are starting to droop. But, this was part of your plan, and thankfully, you’re patient.</p><p>She hasn’t let out a single curse or angry mutter since she started playing, all her time spent in awe of the absolute scale of this PS1 game. At one point, the game’s up-to-then limited map zoomed out, just for a second, to show the entire world, and Malina nearly fell off the bed. </p><p>You admittedly had forgotten about why you actually came here in the first place, only just now remembering, as simply spending time with Malina made you more than satisfied. And even then, you still accomplished the original goal of getting her to chill out.</p><p>Still, those eye bags are looking pretty rough.</p><p>Malina yawns again, and this time she sets the controller down, leaving the post-battle screen up while she groggily lifts herself off of your chest and goes to slide off the bed. “Lemme… grab an energy dr-- fuck, I’m all out. Maybe there’s still some coffee downstair--”</p><p>“Uh, hey,” you chime in, cutting her off, “maybe you should get some rest?”</p><p>She turns and looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, “You just gave me this masterpiece of a game, and now you expect me to <em>not</em> play it?”</p><p>You shake your head and sit straight up. “No, but you’re barely awake as is. You need sleep.”</p><p>Malian turns away from you, crossing her arms and pinching the bridge of her nose, “Ugh, you’re <em>still</em> on this huh?”</p><p>You cross your arms as well and ask her to recall the last time she slept.</p><p>She doesn’t respond. She just looks very attentively at a point of interest that leaves you outside her field of vision, a familiar frown across her pink face.</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>“Why do you care? Who the fuck am I hurting by playing <em>video games</em> too much?” She still doesn’t look at you, but after finishing her rhetorical question she suddenly perks up with a start, as if realizing what she just walked into. “No, wait, if you say--”</p><p>You don’t miss the opportunity. “Yourself.”</p><p>“I fucking <em>knew</em> it.” She plops down on the foot of the bed, arms crossed, still very intently looking away from you. You scoot over to the edge of the bed until you’re next to her. With a huff, she turns her head even further away. “You’re such a <em>dad</em>.”</p><p>You chuckle through your nose, “Someone’s gotta be.” You place an arm around her, and she actually jumps a little. “I mean it, though. It’s not good for people to stay up that long. That’s probably why you get so tilted anyway; your body and brain aren’t getting the rest they need, and you spiral into a worse and worse mood as a result, making poorer and poorer decisions that cost you the whole game. Believe me, I’ve been there.”</p><p>“Sh-shut up… I’m a demon, that shit doesn’t affect…” As if to purposefully prove her wrong, her body betrays her own words with yet another yawn. “...me.” Her eyes dart to meet yours before glancing away just as quick, “Shut up.”</p><p>You haven’t said anything.</p><p>“I can hear your <em>stupid face</em>.”</p><p>That gets an actual laugh out of you. The sound seems to make her relax, if only a little bit. </p><p>“Listen,” you begin again, breaking the short silence, “I’m not asking you to play less. Hell no. Even Lucifer couldn’t do that, I’m not even gonna try.” She snorts at that. It’s something. “But… just promise you won’t pull any more all-nighters? That you’ll actually get some sleep?”</p><p>Malina doesn’t respond.</p><p>“<em>Please? For me?</em>” you plead, one last time.</p><p>Her silence remains for what feels like a long time, though in reality is only a few dozen seconds. With a deep sigh, one that seems like she had been holding in, she finally relents. “Fine. Fine, I’ll… try and fix my sleep schedule. I’ll <em>try</em>.”</p><p>You exhale with relief. That’s all you ask.</p><p>Finally, she looks back at you, head snapping in your direction, “But you’re making it up to me.”</p><p>You say nothing, instead just watching as Malina turns back around and starts climbing into bed. She takes your silence as an invitation to continue.</p><p>“Heroes III LAN tomorrow. And if you pick Necropolis again I’m throwing you off the roof.”</p><p>You snort, and tell her its a deal, as you stand up to allow her access to the covers. One she’s satisfied with her tucking in, she lays her head down on the fluffy pillow below and stares at the empty sour glasses on her end table, muttering about <em>“fucking undead king’s cloak bullshit.”</em></p><p>You take the opportunity to close down the game for her, saving her progress to the memory card and turning off the console and TV. Satisfied, you turn around to wish her sweet dreams, but notice that she’s already out like a light. You chuckle. Should’ve seen that one coming.</p><p>Carefully, you step around to the other side of the bed and slowly take a seat, back facing Malina’s sleeping figure. She doesn’t snore, but instead lets out steady, gentle breaths, her chest rising and falling in rhythm, arms forming limp sweater-paws in front of her. Smiling, you quietly lean over, and plant a peck on her cheek, whispering a good night to her -- even though it’s barely past noon -- before pushing yourself off the bed as quietly as you can and heading for the door. You take one last glance back, just enough to spot the faintest smirk on her face, and quietly shut the door with a smile of your own.</p><p>Heading back downstairs, the house is a bit more calm than it was when you first went up. Judgement and Justice are chatting in front of the TV, and you spot Pandemonica on the porch with Zdrada leaning against the rail next to her, cigarette in hand. You continue on into the kitchen, where Lucifer is already prepared with her apron on. She turns and gives you a questioning look.</p><p>You just smile and give her a peck on the cheek. “Told you I had it.” She rolls her eyes and hands you your apron, and the two of you get cooking. </p><p>You make a mental note to wrap a couple pancakes in foil for Malina.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*malina voice* “i’m sorry… i just get so tilted at the tOwERS…”</p><p>Anyway, thanks for reading! I didn’t plan for this chapter to be about Malina, but I started writing and it just sorta happened.</p><p>This is the first anything that I’ve written in about literally ten years and I have no idea what I’m doing, so any comments or criticism would be much appreciated.</p><p>If you have any ideas for future chapters, feel free to leave a comment and I’ll see if anything catches my eye.</p><p>On an unrelated side-note, in my head Helltaker sounds like Vin Diesel. Actually, wait, scratch that -- he sounds like John R Blade. Or Sergeant Cortez!</p><p>...If you know who those last two are without googling you have my respect.</p><p>Also Front Mission 3 is unironically a masterpiece.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I Should Be Dreaming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Judgement can't sleep. Luckily, neither can you.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One ground-rule you had set in this house from day one was thus: </p><p>when it comes to your bed, you have an open door policy -- if anyone needs to cuddle, they can come right in, no questions asked.</p><p>And it’s been respected. You’ve had nightly cuddling sessions with nearly every other person in the house; mostly Cerberus, but Lucifer joins you rather frequently. Modeus is always more than happy to make literally any form of physical contact with you, and at least once Azazel has tapped on your door, pillow under-arm, asking if she could sleep with you after she had a particularly bad nightmare. Even <em>Pandemonica</em> has gotten in on the action.</p><p>It’s nice, to say the least. If one of the girls has had a busy day or just hasn’t had the time or energy to spend with you, they often make it up by coming in to snuggle next to you. And on the rare nights where you have trouble falling asleep, having someone or multiple someones that you can wrap your arms around always helps you get some shut-eye.</p><p>Unfortunately, tonight you haven’t had any <em>catches</em>, so to speak, and of course, you can’t sleep.</p><p>On the plus side, an empty king size bed gives you plenty of room to toss and turn.</p><p>Aaaand that’s the end of the positives.</p><p>You hate this so much. Laying as still as possible, eyes glued shut, in as comfy of a position as you can manage, and you’ve got nothing. It’s just so deafeningly <em>quiet</em>, the utter lack of auditory sensation near-enough driving you mad. Normally you’d be able to hear <em>something</em>, like Lucifer snoring in her room, or the air conditioner, or the rare car passing outside, but tonight has proven to be especially still.</p><p>It feels as though you’ve been like this for <em>hours</em>, trying every possible position, every combination of covers-on-or-off-or-slightly-off. Last time you looked at the clock it glowed back a mockingly-red <em>12:32AM</em> at you. Prying your eyes open once again and craning your neck to look at the clock, you check the time and--</p><p>
  <em>12:45?! Are you kidding?!</em>
</p><p>You flip onto your back and stare blankly at the ceiling. This isn’t gonna work.</p><p>You sigh, long and drawn out, and roll over toward the night stand to grab your glasses. Might as well try something else. You climb your way out of bed, grabbing your shirt and pulling it on as you make your way to your bedroom door and into the hallway. You carefully open it as quietly as you can manage, peering your head down the hall before stepping through. You turn and...</p><p>You stop. Why is the downstairs light on? No one should be up this late. You look around at the other doors along the hall, all of them sensibly shut, their occupants no doubt sound asleep inside. So, whoever it is, their room isn’t upstairs, which narrows things down.</p><p>As you make your way down the hall, you wonder. Maybe Cerberus? Who knows what kind of trouble they’ve gotten into that this hour. Or maybe Justice fell asleep on the couch again.</p><p>Straining your ears for the sound of whispering and/or snoring, you quietly descend the stairs into the living room, placing each food in a carefully-memorized place on each stair so as to avoid making noise as much as possible.</p><p>You peer around the corner into the living room below, immediately noticing a figure sitting on one of the couches. Tall and muscular in a black sweatshirt, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, chin resting in grey steepled fingers. It’s Judgement, and she seems deep in thought. You quietly call out her name to get her attention.</p><p><em>“Ah!”</em> She starts, a jolt arcing through her back as she spins around toward the sound of your voice -- <em>“Oh!</em> Helltaker!” Upon seeing you, she visibly relaxes, though uses her hands to anxiously smooth out the top of her fuzzy pajama-shorts. “You startled me.”</p><p>You sheepishly mouth a “sorry” as you make your way down the last few steps, continuing into the living room and toward the kitchen. You hear a quiet “it’s okay” behind you as glowing white eyes follow you curiously as you move, turning into the archway and flicking the light switch. You look back at Judgement, who is still watching you.</p><p>“Can’t sleep?” you offer. She nods. “Me neither.” You continue into the kitchen and open one of the higher cabinets, grabbing a glass… and then one more. You grab a few ice cubes out of the freezer and fill each glass up under the faucet, then turn back into the living room. Judgement is still right where she was, though now she’s looking down; in contemplation, perhaps?</p><p>You sit down on the couch opposite Judgement’s, placing a glass atop a coaster on the coffee table between you, and carefully push it over to her. She lifts it up with a quiet “thank you”, and takes a long sip.</p><p>The two of you simply sit for a while in peaceful silence, looking out the window toward the empty, warmly-lit street. You listen to the steady wind as it presses against the house, the hum of the heater as it turns on, the occasional <em>pop!</em> of the ice cubes as they float in their water, the gentle breathing of the demon across from you.</p><p>You look over, and notice she doesn’t seem to find this as relaxing as you do.</p><p>She’s looking down at her hands held together in her lap, fidgeting like she doesn’t know what to do with them; rubbing her thumb over the back of the other, tracing and picking her nails with her fingertips, shifting one hand on top of the other, over and over.</p><p>You place down your glass with a concerned look, asking “You okay?”</p><p>“Hm? Ah,” Judgement glances up toward you, quickly placing her hands in her sweater pockets, as if suddenly remembering she’s not alone. “Yes, I’m… fine.” You know she’s not, but before you can press her, she continues, looking out toward the street again. “It’s… nothing. Don’t worry about me; I shouldn’t be bothering you with my troubles, especially not at this hour. And rest assured, I have already done my scan of the house's perimeter before everyone else went to sleep.”</p><p>You tell her it’s no bother at all; you’d be happy to lend her an ear. Plus, you add, it’s not like you’ve got anything else to do.</p><p>Her eyes close, but her head doesn’t move away from the street. “I appreciate the gesture, but I insist. Do not trouble yourself on my account, I am sure you have your own problems of more import than mine.”</p><p>You don’t take the hint. If she’s losing sleep over it, then there’s clearly <em>something</em> that’s bothering her. “Judgement, I’m your friend. If something is keeping you up at night then I want to know what it is. <em>Especially</em> if it’s keeping you up at night. I may not be able to fix it, but I can listen,” you insist.  “It’s no trouble. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, I totally understand. I’ll drop the topic. Just know that I’d be more than happy to lend you an ear. Seriously.”</p><p>After a few moments of silence, and a long sigh through her nose, her eyes glance away from the street and meet yours. “...You are too kind, Helltaker,” she says, giving you a weak smile. Sighing once more, she leans forward and rests her chin on her hands, in the same position she was in before. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had trouble sleeping. In fact it’s… something that’s bothered me for a while now, even back in Hell.”</p><p>“As High Prosecutor, it is my duty to remain constantly vigilant, whether I’m at Lucifer’s side as her guardian, or watching over Hell itself for those who must be judged. There is rarely time for rest, let alone relaxation or recreation; not when our realm could be breached at any moment.” She becomes noticeably more and more tense as she speaks, to the point where her fingers underneath her chin have clenched into a fist. “At least, that’s what I was taught. No mercy, no respite, no hesitation. The slightest lapse in concentration could mean the difference between victory or defeat. A High Prosecutor cannot live for herself as, by her nature, she must live for the sake of Hell and all of its demons.”</p><p>You nod along as she speaks. She has your full attention, and you listen intently to every word she says, fingers locked together. She goes on, “But… even demons require rest, a fact that I’m sure has not eluded you. It is especially important for the High Prosecutor; fatigue leads to loss of mental acuity, the dulling of one's nerves and a loss in dexterity. All things that are a detriment to one in my position.”</p><p>“You need to sleep,” you chime, “but you feel like if you do, you’re leaving Hell open to attack.”</p><p>“Something like that, I suppose.”</p><p>There is one thought that’s been nagging at your head; since you came back from Hell, in fact. You decide it’s relevant to the current discussion, and speak it. “The name, <em>‘High</em> Prosecutor,’ implies there are just regular ‘Prosecutors.’” </p><p>One thing you learned from your long conversations with Lucifer, especially when the topic of her job comes up, is that she is a master delegator. With her at the helm, Hell is a well-oiled, extremely efficient machine; should one cog be absent or break down, the whole will still function, intelligently compensating for losses and plugging holes wherever necessary. </p><p>Judgement nods. “That is true. The High Prosecutor cannot hope to be everywhere at once, and so the Prosecutors act as her eyes, ears, and fingers, ensuring stability wherever she may be absent.” She sighs once more, leaning back. “That they exist should be enough to ease my anxieties. But they are still nothing without their leader. To expect the Prosecutors to defend hell in absence of a High Prosecutor would be like trying to hold a sword with fingers that lack a palm.”</p><p>She brings her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them in a hug, as if to comfort herself. “I feel like, if I’m not there, if I’m not constantly vigilant… then I’m letting them down. All of them. I have already been found wanting once, and I will not allow it to happen again.”</p><p>You’ve never seen her this vulnerable before. You always knew Judgement took her job seriously. That’s one thing you admire about her, in fact; not just the dedication but the enthusiasm she shows when assuming her role as High Prosecutor. But hearing how much it also stresses her, the anxiety it gives her, and how it makes her view herself... it makes your heart hurt.</p><p>You stand up and move across to sit next to her, and wrap your arm around her back. She leans into you, a wordless response to your silent invitation.</p><p>You’re first to speak. “I feel like you’re being too hard on yourself. Hell has enough punishment going around that I’m sure you can have some time to yourself without the whole place freezing over.”</p><p>Judgement doesn’t respond immediately, simply closing her eyes, like she’s thinking your words over in her head. But then she exhales through her nose; something like a laugh. “You sound a lot like my master.”</p><p>“Justice?” you ask, and she nods.</p><p>“Indeed. She taught me everything I know. And even back then, she thought the same as you. Thought that I was too hard on myself, that I took my position a little too seriously, as much as one can.” She sighs. “Part of me knows she was right.”</p><p>That reminds you. “Justice was the High Prosecutor, but she seems pretty chill.”</p><p>She huffs out another laugh, and you feel it against you. “Well, that’s because she’s retired. Back when she was the High Prosecutor, she had a <em>much</em> different aura. I… actually based my ‘Prosecutor Voice’ off of her.”</p><p>Now <em>that’s</em> damn interesting. You find it almost impossible to imagine Justice with such an aggressively sadistic way of speaking, let alone with the <em>volume</em> that Judgement presents while on the job.</p><p>Looking up at you she giggles, and you only just now realize how much the surprise was obvious on your face. You wipe it away with a grin before you speak. “It’s hard to imagine someone as <em>cool</em> as Justice being… well… <em>like that.</em>”</p><p>Judgement actually laughs out loud at that, hand coming up to cover her mouth upon realizing she doesn’t want to wake up the whole house, and then sheepishly places it behind her head. “Eheh.. well… I may have taken some… <em>artistic liberties</em>. Even when she was the High Prosecutor, she was still rather laid-back. At least, as much as one can be in this position.”</p><p>With a sigh, her smile leaves, and Judgement slumps against you. “But as for what you said, no, it’s not like that. Or rather, not anymore. My job is important, of course -- to both Hell and to myself -- but I know now that things won’t fall apart without me there every second of every day. At least, logically I do. And that’s the thing; almost my whole life as High Prosecutor <em>has</em> been me being there, every second of every day.”</p><p>“I’m not used to… <em>this</em>”, Judgement says, making a general gesture toward the entire room. “To how… <em>quiet</em> everything is here. Not just your home, but the mortal realm in general; at least what I’ve seen of it. The others enjoy it here; many of them seem so much calmer, so much more happy compared to how they were before you arrived. And I’m not saying I don’t enjoy it… but they way they seem to go around without a care in the world, as if what happens in Hell doesn’t matter here… even Lucifer allows herself to let go and relax when she’s here. And that’s the thing.”</p><p>Judgement leans against you, hugging her knees tighter. You trace small, slow circles on her shoulder blades as she looks down toward her feet. You can see on her face that she’s thinking of what to say, turning it over in her head.</p><p>She sighs, long and deep, and you can tell it’s one of frustration. Yet there’s also some relief to it, like this is something she had been wanting to get off her chest for a long time. “I guess what I’m saying is… I don’t really know <em>how</em> to relax.”</p><p>You hum in acknowledgement, but don’t respond right away. This is a tough situation… one that you very much empathize with. You do think you understand how she feels, however.</p><p>You speak, “You’re so used to keeping your guard up, and now that you’re in a situation where you don’t <em>need</em> to protect everyone around you, you feel restless, mentally and physically. Does that sound right?”</p><p>Judgement simply looks down at the ground, hugging herself as she leans against you. “Yes… basically.” You’ve never heard her sound so meek.</p><p>From what you know of Hell, if prosecutors are like the guards of hell, then the High Prosecutor is like Batman (Batwoman?). While the Prosecutors deal with the more mundane threats and generally keep order, the High Prosecutor is much more focused on the big picture. Hell is full of punishment, there’s absolutely no lack of devils and demons and damned souls ready to torment any poor soul that shows up there. </p><p>Which is why Judgement singled you out specifically during your journey into Hell; you weren’t just some soul, you were an invader. A potential threat. And a major part of a High Prosecutor’s job is to <em>defend</em> Hell from direct threats, things that could actually upset the balance, and to punish them; whether they be from within, like Beelzebub, or without, perhaps like an Angel -- although, and you mean no offense, you certainly don’t consider Azazel any kind of threat to the stability of Hell.</p><p>This gives you a question.</p><p>“Before me,” you start, bringing up your free hand to your chin in contemplation, “when was the last time Hell had to be defended by its High Prosecutor? Directly?”</p><p>“Before you?” Judgement repeats, looking up at you. She furrows her brows, looking past you in thought. “It... has been quite some time.”</p><p>“Right. I’m not saying you should just kick your feet up, but surely you can take things a bit slower when you’re not on duty. I think you know by now that <em>I’m</em> hardly a threat; if I’m as bad as it gets, then I think Hell will be fine.”</p><p>“I think I see what you mean. Still, though... things may be quiet and peaceful, but threats rarely announce themselves in advance. If I were to be absent while Hell came under attack… I would never forgive myself.” Her eyes squeeze shut, in determination or anxiety you can’t quite tell. “I cannot -- I <em>will</em> not -- abandon my post.”</p><p>“I know. And I would never ask you to.” You use your hand that’s not wrapped around her to gently take hers, and she gasps slightly, looking down at your hand, then up to meet your eyes, surprise and curiosity on her face. </p><p>“You take your job seriously, and there’s nothing wrong with that. If anything, it’s an admirable trait. You have a serious job. Not just lives but <em>souls</em> are at stake. It’s only natural that you would put the well-being of those under your protection at the forefront.</p><p>“But you still matter,” you continue. “You’re always putting other people’s needs before your own. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing -- it’s a part of your job. But there is a point where things can go too far in the other direction. You need to make sure you don’t forget that you’re still a person with needs, with problems, and those are just as important as anyone else’s.”</p><p>“The High Prosecutor is an important part of Hell. But she’s not just a weapon or a shield to be bluntly used against Hell’s enemies… I can tell that you believe the High Prosecutor is so much more than that, and even though I’m an outsider, I believe you’re right.</p><p>“You deserve love, too, Judgement. Not just from others, but from yourself most of all.”</p><p>Judgement simply stares at you, her eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Small tears begin to well up in her eyes, and she squeezes them shut as she presses into you with a hug. She’s so strong that it actually sort of hurts, but you don’t care. If your words made her feel even a bit better about herself, then the pain is worth it.</p><p>She unconsciously loosens her grip somewhat, and you squeeze her back. You and Judgement merely sit quietly in the embrace, tiny sniffs and gasps coming from the grey demon against you. You realize this is the first time you’ve seen a demon cry.</p><p>By the time she releases you, it feels as though time passed much quicker than it did. She wipes her face on her sleeve, curling up onto her side and resting her head on your lap. You use this opportunity to play with her hair, run fingers through it, trace tiny circles into her scalp. “I…” she starts, but stops to let out a long, breathy sigh. This one you can tell is one of relief. “I… appreciate your words, Helltaker. I… will have to ruminate on them for a while.”</p><p>That’s all you ask. You don’t say anything, simply continuing to trace your fingers along her temples and jawline. She closes her eyes and relaxes into your hand as you do, careful not to poke you with her horns.</p><p>For a while, neither of you speak, simply enjoying the serenity that’s fallen over the room. The ice in your drinks has long since melted, condensation on the glass pooling at the base, making you glad you remembered the coasters.</p><p>“Have you spoken to Justice about this?” is what you ask to break the silence.</p><p>“No… but I think I will.” Judgement says, her voice almost a whisper. “Who better to ask for guidance on being a High Prosecutor, than the only other High Prosecutor I know? And my mentor, at that.”</p><p>Part of you does wonder why she hadn’t already gone to Justice about it, but it does match with what she said. The threat of showing weakness, the idea that she, as High Prosecutor, could be unsure of anything. Bringing such things up even to someone she trusts completely would be terrifying. It explains why she was so forthcoming to you of all people with what troubles her; you were probably the first person who came to her, and <em>wanted</em> to hear her talk about what was bothering her. And the floodgates opened.</p><p>So you don’t ask. You simply tell her you’re glad to hear it.</p><p>You certainly didn’t expect such an emotional moment when you crawled out of bed, and you don’t doubt that Judgement didn’t either. That was a lot to unpack, and Judgement clearly isn’t used to being this vulnerable. So, while you would be happy to just stay here and play with her hair, you feel like you owe it to her to go a bit bigger.</p><p>You have an idea.</p><p>“I’m not gonna be the one to solve all your problems, that’s a bit much for one night,” you say, humor obvious in your tone. “But I still want to help you out. And maybe I could start by helping you relax.”</p><p>You flex your thighs in an unspoken message to the demon on your lap, and she responds, lifting up her head and looking up at you as you begin to shift off the couch.</p><p>“If you feel up to it, I’d like you to grab your jacket. I wanna show you something.”</p><p>Judgement looks confused, perhaps a little disappointed, but also curious. Her eyes dart to the doorway downstairs, where her bedroom is located. Looking back at you, she answers. “...Very well.”</p><p>She stands up and heads for the door to the basement, opening it up and disappearing down the stairs. You take this opportunity to get up yourself, heading for the coat closet by the front door and grabbing your winter coat. You figure that it’d be enough; your pajama-bottoms are plenty warm as they are, and you don’t plan on spending much time in the cold anyway.</p><p>After a fashion, you hear the downstairs door shut quietly, and walk back into the living room to find Judgement waiting for you.</p><p>Looking at her, you immediately notice her metallic gauntlets, the rolled-up sleeves of her parka tucked as much as they could be into the dull steel bracers, the clawed-fingers held together at her stomach. She’s changed from her short-shorts to a more weather-appropriate pair of leggings, though you can still see the sweatshirt she had on under the folds of the parka.</p><p>She’s blushing like crazy, black against her dark gray skin. “Is this… acceptable?” is what Judgement manages to squeak out.</p><p>She is so goddamn adorable.</p><p>“Should be warm enough,” is what you say.</p><p>However, Judgement doesn’t miss your glances down at her hands. </p><p>“Ah, I hope you don’t mind that I bring them... just in case. It will just be the two of us, and if something were to happen… I would like to be prepared.” She’s looking everywhere but where you are, embarrassment clear on her face. “Better to have and not need, than need and not have.”</p><p>You nod, and tell her it’s no problem. You would’ve preferred that she take it a bit easier and gone without, but you understand where she’s coming from. It’s clearly a habit from being High Prosecutor. Plus, even though you know there won’t be any danger, you can tell they make her feel safer, and that’s more important than fashion.</p><p>You move to grab your keys off the coffee table, beckoning Judgement to follow you to the door. The two of you step out, immediately feeling the brisk air rush into the warmth of the foyer, and once you’re both on the front porch you shut the door behind you, locking it tight.</p><p>It’s cold outside, but thankfully not freezing. Much of the cold is in the wind, which you feel bite against your ears and nose. Judgement hugs herself for warmth, following behind you as you head out toward your car, parked in the driveway.</p><p>You’ve found that cold nights like this always have a certain <em>smell</em> to them, one you can’t quite explain. But whenever you smell it, whether you’re outside yourself or the scent is clinging to the jacket of someone who just came home, it makes you feel nostalgic, relaxed.</p><p>Unlocking the car with your keyfob as you move around to the passenger side, you gingerly pull the door open, stepping aside to allow Judgement to enter.</p><p>At first she simply stands and looks at you. She glances between you and the seat a few times, confused, then suddenly seems to make the connection and realize what you’re doing. “Oh!” Judgement starts a little, sheepishly lowering herself into the passenger seat. “Um… thank you.”</p><p>You smile, closing the door once she’s completely in -- you notice her horns scrape the ceiling of your car, which is something you didn't consider. You’ll probably want to look at that in the morning. With a snort, you move around and enter the driver’s seat.</p><p>Gingerly plugging in your seatbelt -- and realizing this is her first time in a car, instructing Judgement on how to do the same -- you start the car. The demon next to you turns to look at you. “Are we going somewhere?”</p><p>“Not exactly,” is your answer. You rest your wrists on the steering wheel as you talk. “When I was little and couldn’t sleep, my dad would take me for a drive. I would sit in the back seat while he went around the neighborhood, sometimes down the more busy roads which were empty this time of night. I’d just sit and watch the street lights pass, listen to the sound of the tires against the asphalt. Knocked me out every time. <em>Especially</em> if it was raining.” </p><p>“That was a long time ago now, but I still go for late night drives when I can’t sleep or if I’ve had a stressful day. And I figure it’ll help you, too.”</p><p>Judgement hums -- she seems... confused, but not against the idea. Unsure, yes... but curious. “Very well.”</p><p>You shift the car into reverse and begin backing out of the driveway, your arm around Judgement’s seat as you glance around. Once you’re sure the coast is clear, you begin to slowly back up, the car lurching slightly, causing the demon next to you to start with an <em>“eep!”</em> </p><p>You chuckle as you pull out into the street. Coming to a complete stop, you change the gear to drive and begin the drive down the neighborhood. All the houses you pass on the street are dark, no doubt their residents are sound asleep within. </p><p>You must have taken these roads at least a hundred times, and by now you can probably drive down them with your eyes closed -- not that you’re in the mood to try. </p><p>“I still have trouble getting used to just how <em>dark</em> the mortal realm can be,” says Judgement in a breathy voice. “In Hell, there’s no night. The fires never stop burning. So we’re used to sleeping in the light, or at least the shade.”</p><p>“Does the darkness make it harder to sleep, or easier?” you ask.</p><p>“Mmmm… you may be asking the wrong demon,” she responds, and you can hear her smile in her voice.</p><p>You slowly come to a halt at the stop sign that marks the end of your neighborhood, and just in time -- a flash of light to your left. You wait for the approaching car to cross over, listening to the sound of it passing, before you turn.</p><p>You move down the winding road out of your suburb, completely absent of any cars besides yours. Any buildings you pass are dark, the only light coming from the street lamps and your car's headlights. That is until you find yourself in a commercial zone, almost every building lit with some sort of neon despite nearly all of them being closed, the light casting over you and your passenger as you drive.</p><p>You see a turn coming up and decide to take it. You move into the avenue to the ticking of your turn signal -- there’s no one around to see it, but it makes you feel safe. A one-way backroad that circles around a black-and-brown-brick building, lined with trees on either side. You immediately recognize it as the local clinic, one that you’ve paid more than a few visits to after you messed up Pandemonica’s coffee, and you shudder slightly at the thought, continuing around into the parking lot.</p><p>You’re not parking, though, you just use the space to turn around, taking the proper exit out this time, back onto the main road.</p><p>You don’t know where you’re going, and you don’t care. You let muscle memory take you wherever it wants. All your other senses are focused on your surroundings, the roads, turns, signs and lights and the occasional driver. The wind flowing past the frame of the car. The low humming sound of your wheels on asphalt. All the ticks and hums your car itself is making, the slow and rhythmic flashes of the warm light of the street lamps peering through the windows, alternating with the darkness between every one.</p><p>You hear a soft humming to your right, and you steal a quick glance over at Judgement. She’s leaned up against the window, head on the seat, lazily gazing out at everything that passes. It makes you smile. “Comfy?” you ask, breaking the long established silence.</p><p>Judgement hums again, turning her head to look at you. “Yes… this is rather relaxing. I can see why you do this.”</p><p>Seeing her even a little more content makes you happy, though as you drive, you still turn over ideas in your head as to what else you could do while you’re out. You did say you weren’t going anywhere, and that was true, but you feel like you could do more. You’re certainly not feeling any drowsier than you were before. </p><p>Hmm… hot drinks are supposed to help you sleep, right? An idea begins brewing (brewing?), and you begin to feel a craving. Chocolate. Hot chocolate. Perfect. </p><p>Only one small problem; what place is gonna be open at this hour? And it’s not like you’re a connoisseur of hot drinks; sure, some of Pandemonica’s knowledge has rubbed off on you after a while, but you’re no expert, you don’t know what places are good. The coffee shop Pandemonica frequents is no doubt closed, and there’s no way you’re going to Starbucks. Partially because of your own tastes, partially because if you ever set foot in one you’re pretty sure you would come home to Pandemonica waiting for you with a hammer. Somehow, she would know.</p><p>As you ponder, you realize you recognize where you are; the local university, or at least the dorm area. It was only just built a few years ago, made of fairly high-rise complexes. Every one of them has a shop at the bottom, almost all of which are student-owned, and are all sat along the big main street that goes down the middle of the development. In the corner of your eye, you see Judgement gazing up at the apartments, and you swear her eyes are twinkling.</p><p> You’ve been here before! And you know of a perfect place!</p><p>Somewhere around here. You went there once a few years ago; a local sort-of-artisanal cafe that specializes in everything chocolate. You know they’ve got some damn good hot cocoa  -- made with <em>actual chocolate</em> instead of just pre-packaged powder and water -- and they sometimes stay open late this time of year, when students are cramming for deadlines into the night. Hopefully, you’ll be lucky tonight. If not, you’ve got some other ideas.</p><p>You don’t actually remember where the place is, though, so you simply drive aimlessly through the maze-like back-roads. You glance over at Judgement once more, as she lazily watches the buildings and occasional parked car pass outside.</p><p>“You ever have hot chocolate?” you ask.</p><p>“Hmm?” Judgement turns to you, clearly not expecting you to ask her something. You repeat the question, and she thinks a bit. “I… have had pancakes?” is her answer, which sounds more like a question when she says it.</p><p>You snort. Not <em>exactly</em> what you meant. You explain the basic concept to her, and she seems intrigued, though shakes her head in answer of your original question. “I would be open to trying, however.”</p><p>You’re glad to hear it, and as if on cue, you finally find your target. A modest neon sign above a hole-in-the-wall shop reading <em>Cafe Chocolat</em>, with--</p><p>Oh, shit, the lights are on! Could they be open?</p><p>You hurry into the parking lot,  pulling into a spot closest to the front door. You notice tiny droplets dotted across your windscreen; damn, is it starting to rain? You’d better be quick. You decide to leave the car running and undo your seatbelt, going to open the door, but Judgement’s voice stops you.</p><p>“May I join you?” she asks politely. You don’t see why not -- in that case, you turn the engine off, and leave the car, tiny cold raindrops landing on your head. You wait for Judgement to walk around to meet you, and the two of you head up to the front of the cafe. You pull on the door and -- moment of truth -- it opens, to your relief, and slight confusion in the back of your mind. </p><p>As you step inside, the door jingling softly, you’re immediately greeted by warmth, the air in the cafe much more comfortable than the winter chill outside. A menagerie of delectable scents meets your nose; coffee beans, mocha, caramel, chocolate, not to mention the pastries of all kinds that line the counter. Judgement hums next to you, hands in her coat pockets and her eyes closed as she takes in a deep breath through her nose, and sighs in relief. You wonder what Pandemonica would think of this place.</p><p>“Yo, our last customers,” comes a scratchy voice behind the counter. A lanky kid with bleached hair in a red uniform-apron, most likely a student, stands at the register, resting on his elbows. Various books and papers are strewn next him; you guess you caught him studying. His name tag tells you his name is Dante. “You’re lucky, man, we usually don’t stay open this late.”</p><p>Stepping up to the counter with a greeting, you place your order from the menu behind him; two homemade hot-chocolates, no sugar. You specifically request the drinks to-go, because you feel bad for keeping him up this late.</p><p>To your surprise, Dante suddenly smiles, big and wide. “Oh yeah, right on, man!” he says, and turns to head into the back and prepare your order. For some reason, he seems <em>genuinely</em> happy to serve you, which, despite a lifetime of going to places that have employees, is something you can’t say you’ve seen before. And this late, no less; it’s easily past 1:00 AM now.</p><p>Maybe he’s high.</p><p>As you idly listen to Dante chatting with another co-worker in the back, you notice Judgement is beside you, crouching down and looking through the glass at the pastries. Cookies, danishes, pies, cakes -- if you can think of it, and it’s made with chocolate, it’s there. It’s clear that she wants something, but knows it's far too late to eat. You lean down and tap on her horn, getting her attention, and say you’ll take her here again sometime. She smiles up at you, but a low rumble outside catches her attention, and yours.</p><p>Thankfully, it’s not a storm -- at least not yet, but the sound tells you you should probably start making your way home after this. The two of you step over to the windows, watching the rain pick up slowly as you wait for your order, the thin raindrops invisible if not for the cool light of the street lamp outside.</p><p>Eventually, you hear a whistle behind you, and turn to see Dante ready with your drinks. Judgement follows you to the counter as you take your drink and begin to pay, making sure to leave a generous tip, because someone working <em>this</em> late honestly deserves it.</p><p>“Hey, cool costume,” says Dante as he hands Judgement her drink. She takes it in her claws and her face twists slightly in confusion, but a light tug on her jacket gets her attention, and she follows you out the door as you wish the cashier a good night. The two of you stop just outside the door, under the awning protecting you from the rain, which by now has picked up into a steady shower. You share a look, and you pull the hoods of your jackets up in sync, although Judgement’s horns prevent hers from fully covering her head.</p><p>As if responding to a silent starting shot, you and Judgement bolt to the car in unison, as fast as possible to avoid getting soaked. You rush to the driver’s side, ripping open the door and taking a seat, and then closing it, hot chocolate warming your hands, as the two of you giggle like children. God, that smells good.</p><p><em>Now</em> it feels like winter. Part of you wishes it was snowing, as that would <em>truly</em> complete the atmosphere, but a larger part of you has <em>no interest</em> in driving through the snow at night.</p><p>Judgement has settled into her seat as well, holding her cup in both hands, holding it under her nose and taking a large whiff, before sighing in satisfaction. She turns to you, and you raise your own cup in a wordless toast, which she meets.</p><p>Judgement takes a sip, and her eyebrows shoot up. Her already-glowing eyes light up, metaphorically and <em>literally</em>, as she takes another sip, and another, clearly in no way bothered by the temperature. “This is…” she starts, taking another sip for punctuation, <em>“...wonderful!”</em></p><p>You knew she’d like it. You hold off on taking your own sip, as you prefer your tongue when it isn’t suffering first-degree burns, and start the car.</p><p>A few more sips later, Judgement pauses a moment, then turns to speak. “Thank you. This… was not necessary. But I appreciate it all the same.”</p><p>You tell her to think nothing of it, it’s your treat, as you lift the cup to your lips and take a test-sip. Quite hot, but thankfully not scalding anymore, and <em>god</em> it’s delicious. Creamy, smooth, like drinking melted dark chocolate… which technically you are, but <em>still.</em></p><p>With one hand on the wheel, you pull out of the parking spot and make your way back onto the road, the windshield wipers thumping rhythmically as the rain patters against the frame of the car.</p>
<h6></h6><p>The drive home passes by quickly, or at least, quicker than it was the other way. It was much less quiet this time, as you and Judgement chatted freely along the way, mostly on the topic of her master, Justice, and of particularly amusing moments during their training sessions, like the time she accidentally gave Lucifer, who Justice had not noticed at the time, a black eye with her backswing. You hadn’t been there when it happened, but you do remember Justice trying to apologize to Lucifer for a whole week afterwards.</p><p>In the spaces between conversation, you listened to the sound of the rain. Driving through it is nerve-wracking, but the quiet sounds of droplets landing against the roof and windshield is soothing in its own way.</p><p>You can tell it’s having some effect on Judgement, because eventually you find your turn into your neighborhood, and as you make your way toward your home, the demon yawns next to you.</p><p>Oh. </p><p>Right. </p><p>You… honestly forget that this entire thing was about the two of you not being able to sleep. You feel your body pull into a yawn as well, no doubt a response to Judgement’s. Yeah… you think it worked.</p><p>You come up to your house, and pull into the driveway, parking and turning the key, pulling your hood up and opening the car door with your hot chocolate-free hand. As you step up to the porch, you and Judgement shake the beads of rain off your jackets and you unlock the door. Stepping into the foyer and hanging up your coat in the closet, you see the house is just as you left it.</p><p>Judgement clears her throat next to you. “Thank you, Helltaker,” she says. “That was… rather soothing. I think it helped.” She stifles another yawn, as if in confirmation. </p><p>You smile, then realize you have to yawn too. Damn, that’s contagious.</p><p>Judgement giggles, “I think it helped you, too.” She clears her throat, looking down at her feet a moment, before looking back up at you. “Well… good night, Helltaker. Thank you, again,” she says, and starts turning to head down for the night.</p><p>You’re just about to return her ‘good night’ before a thought hits you.</p><p>You haven’t actually cuddled with Judgement before. </p><p>You only just realize it, but she was the only one not to take up your offer. She didn’t outright refuse, of course, but even though the door was open she never took a step through -- metaphorically speaking. You didn’t mind, and you weren’t going to press her about it. You respected her boundaries, and you still do. But it was still curious… and after tonight you think you may have an idea as to why.</p><p>You call out (quietly) to Judgement, and she stops, turning to you with curiosity on her face. </p><p>“You gonna sleep alone?” you ask, “My bed is always open if you wanna, y’know, cuddle. Cuddling always helps me sleep.”</p><p>At first, it seems she’s about to politely decline, but she stops herself, and considers for a moment. You reassure her that if she would rather sleep alone, you understand, it’s no problem.</p><p>“...That sounds nice,” she eventually says, quietly. “Yes… I think I’ll join you.” She holds out her hand, and you reach to take it, before suddenly realizing she still has her gauntlets on. She makes a startled noise, pulling her hand back and grinning sheepishly. “Ah… apologies. I should probably put these away, no?”</p><p>You simply chuckle and nod, and with a quiet <em>“be right back!”</em> Judgement rushes (quietly) downstairs to put away her claws. She returns less than a minute later, and this time, holds out her hand <em>for real this time.</em></p><p>You take it gently, meeting her smile as the two of you make your way (quietly) up the stairs and to your room, not bothering to check the clock.</p><p>Kicking off your shoes, Judgement lazily hops onto the bed before you, hand still holding yours as she pulls you up with her, giggling as you stumble onto the mattress. You can’t help but laugh, as she scoots over to give you room to lay next to her, lifting up the covers so the both of you can get under. She sighs as she rolls onto her side to face you, body practically sinking into the mattress and pillow.</p><p>“Hello.”</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>The both of you laughing, you turn over and lean over to switch off the table lamp that keeps the room lit. However, once you do, Judgement wraps her arms around your midsection, carefully (though still effortlessly) pulling you back into bed and resting her chin in the crook of your shoulder. <em>Someone</em> wants to be big spoon.</p><p>She cranes her head a bit, leaving her lips just behind your ear as she whispers.</p><p>“Thank you, for… everything, tonight.” You can feel Judgement’s breath tickle your ear as she speaks. “For trying to help me sleep… and for listening to me ramble, on and on. I only now realize how much I had been wanting to get all of that off my chest.” She squeezes you tight, pressing her forehead against the back of your neck. “I cannot express how much I appreciate it. No one has ever done that for me.”</p><p>Hearing that makes you so happy. For Judgement.</p><p>“I bet if you asked her, Justice would, too,” you say, your voice a whisper like hers.</p><p>“I think you may be right.” You can hear her smile in her voice.</p><p>As she presses herself against your back, you feel… safe. Not that you had felt unsafe before but… the way her strong arms wrap around you, tight enough to keep you secure but gentle enough not to hurt. The warmth of her body against yours, only amplified by the blankets you share. The gentle, slow, rhythmic feel of her heartbeat. You’ve never been held like this before, and you like it. A lot.</p><p>You can feel the effect it’s having on you, as you begin to drift, eyes becoming heavier and eventually shutting on their own. </p><p>Behind you, Judgement whispers, her breath tickling the back of your neck and causing the hairs to stand on end. “Good night, Helltaker.”</p><p>You respond to her good night with one of your own.</p><p>And finally, at long last, you both drift off into sleep.</p><p>Thank god it’s friday.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We don’t just have fluff here at Hell is Other People. We also have Comfy™ </p><p>Sorry this took so long. This chapter ended up being a LOT longer than I had anticipated, on top of some boring real-life shit (i also somehow tore a muscle in my back which was F U N). I’ll try and make the next one more short and sweet. I actually ended up writing this one so long I started coming up with better ideas for the events in the story and had to restrain myself from rewriting a third of it. So this chapter isn’t quite as good as I think it could’ve been, but I can think of a few ways to recycle those ideas into their own separate chapter.</p><p>Still had fun writing it, though. </p><p>As I said, I tried to go for ‘comfy’, though I haven’t actually written anything like that before, so if it ended up being more boring than enjoyable I apologize, let me know.</p><p>Anyway, Judgement is supposed to be the kindest out of all the demons, so I leaned into that while writing her. I love the idea that she puts up this badass, sadistic punisher persona while she’s doing her Prosecuting, but on the inside, once you get to know her, she’s an absolute teddy bear. That, combined with my headcanon that not only is Judgement just as tall as -- if not taller than -- Taker, but absolutely ripped on top of that, makes her one of my favorite members of the Harem.</p><p>Also, I like to imagine that when Justice was High Prosecutor, she was straight up just Kamina.</p><p>And also, while I was finishing things up with this chapter, a new official comic dropped, starring none other than Judgement and Justice! It doesn’t really have anything to do with this fic but it still makes me happy.</p>
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